


Clarity

by NightMereBear



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21699256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightMereBear/pseuds/NightMereBear
Summary: Their orders were simple: Find Gilbert and Annette, take stock of the situation, and report back to the professor. A straightforward directive; one Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain had agreed to follow. They were not to get in over their heads. They were not to charge, outnumbered, into a platoon of enemy soldiers. Of course, this was before the warlock used a silence spell on Annette. This was before she fought back anyway.Felix Hugo Fraldarius had never let his emotions get in the way on the battlefield…until now.(A retelling of Annette's paralogue through Felix's perspective).
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 34
Kudos: 201





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Holy cow guys this chapter was stupidly difficult to write. And stupidly long. Seriously I ended up rewriting major sections at least twice and nearly gave up on it more than once. Then I was like: ‘Welp I don’t want to have gone to all this work for nothing,’ so I powered through. But seriously there’s another document sitting on my computer with 7293 words of cut content…which is only a few thousand words shy of this chapter’s word count xD So I seriously hope you all enjoy it because the actual writing was a bit of a bear! Now without further ado...

Felix had lost track of how long he’d been in the training grounds. He was no stranger to frustration, that was a natural hazard of being friends with Sylvain. Yet for whatever reason, he couldn't get that morning’s encounter with Annette out of his head. They had been paired on kitchen duty when she had somehow managed to knock an entire bottle of cooking oil across the stove. Liquid had splattered everywhere, the newly saturated flames leaping into the air and searing Annette’s palm in the process. She had tried to conceal the burn, but Felix had immediately called her bluff.

"Don't be an idiot. You'll only cause more trouble than you already have," he had told her. "Go see Manuela."

Annette’s face had crumpled like parchment in a bonfire. She had gone to the infirmary, but her wounded expression had branded itself onto the back of Felix’s eyelids.

Why was it that whenever he tried to be nice to her, things literally blew up in his face? Why was it that with her, none of his words ever came out right? Why was it that with her, he actually cared?

With an embittered yell, Felix brought his weapon around in a crescent arc that slammed into the dummy, releasing all of his pent-up frustration in a single swing. A splintering sound rent the air as the sword cracked down the middle, a large chunk of wood breaking off and spiraling across the room. Felix watched the sliver hit the ground and skitter into a corner, his shoulders heaving, sweat dripping from his temples. 

A beat passed.

“Damn…” he muttered, dropping the now useless hilt and wiping his brow. Even training was not enough to push Annette from his mind. He needed to spar. He needed someone he could actually exchange blows with. Someone made of tougher stuff than straw and twine. Someone strong.

The creak of protesting wood jerked him from his thoughts and the doors to the training grounds swung open, admitting a woman with frosty green hair and eyes of glittering jade. The corner of Felix’s mouth quirked. Perfect.

“Professor,” he drawled, folding his arms across his chest. “Your timing couldn’t have been better.”

The woman shook her head, striding toward him with an urgency that belied any hopes he might have had for a fight.

“I’m not here to spar, Felix,” Byleth said shortly, confirming his suspicions. “We need to move out. Now.”

A part of the swordsman rejoiced at this news. At last, a proper distraction. An opportunity to lose himself in the symphony of sword and steel. To hear the melody of battle; a melody that sang loudly enough to drown out any other song that lilted through his mind.

No matter who was singing it.

Felix gave a nod of acquiescence. “Empire troops?” he asked. Byleth shook her head.

“Not this time,” she answered. “We’re mounting a potential rescue mission into Dominic territory.”

Felix’s heart sank faster than a stone in water, cold dread seeping into his veins. Dominic territory? That made no sense. Annette’s uncle had been under the imposing eye of the Empire for awhile now. The Kingdom had no allies there, at least none willing to risk aiding Dimitri’s army. There had been no marching orders in that region as far as Felix was aware. No strategy involving a detour through those lands. So why…?

The swordsman schooled his features into a mask of careful calm, his voice casual as he asked: “Rescue mission? For who?”

Somehow, he knew the answer before Byleth confirmed it.

“Gilbert,” she answered. “…And Annette.”

……………

The city was their battleground. 

The professor’s plan had been to send the bulk of the kingdom army to engage the baron’s soldiers, while another, smaller strike force split off to locate Annette and Gilbert. It was by no means typical battle strategy, but this was by no means a typical battle.

The confined streets were narrow, the buildings much too close together to afford sufficient space for pegasus wings or cavalry horses. Thus, Byleth had instructed Ingrid and Sylvain to leave their mounts behind and join Felix for reconnaissance. The trio had been left with strict instructions to assess the situation and proceed from there, but to retreat and regroup if complications arose.

The three had located Annette and Gilbert in the city’s northeast square, four gigantic armored knights guarding the captives’ immediate vicinity. Several more soldiers were stationed around the perimeter, their hands on their weapons, eyes flitting about for the slightest disturbance.

The trio crouched in a nearby alley, doing their best not to accidentally tumble over each other in the tight confines. Properly wielding a weapon with the walls looming so close was unthinkable, but the space functioned nicely as a stealthy look-out point.

That aside, Felix never needed to be this physically close to Ingrid or Sylvain again.

“As much as I’d love to swoop in and be the hero here, I’m not sure that’s the right move,” Sylvain muttered, stepping forward for a better glimpse of their comrades.

“Ouch, Sylvain that’s my foot,” Ingrid hissed.

“Not interested in footsie, Ingrid?”

“Keep talking and I will actually break your knees.”

“Noted.”

The blonde shook her head. “Anyway, we’re technically only here for reconnaissance,” she murmured. “Maybe one of us can stay and keep an eye on things while the others report back to the professor.”

Sylvain frowned. “So that one person can be even more outnumbered if things get complicated?” he asked skeptically.

Ingrid sighed in exasperation. “Then what do _you_ propose we do? I’m open to ideas.”

“I—" Sylvain began, but Felix interrupted him.

“Shut up for a second,” he muttered. “Look.”

Two men had just stepped into the square. The first was a grizzled warlock with long, billowing robes and a gnarled staff; the second a soldier sporting a formidable looking blade. The swordsman’s movements were marked with a predatory grace that screamed of competence and strength. Felix found himself resting a hand on his sword, suddenly antsy at the thought of a challenge.

“Reign it in, Felix,” Ingrid murmured, having noted his shift in stance. He ignored her.

The newcomers strode confidently toward one of the armored knights, the swordsman’s voice carrying in the open air.

“We’re to take the girl back to the estate," he was saying. "She can await her lord uncle there.”

“The baron gave us leave to use any means necessary. Ah, for her own good of course,” the warlock added in a reedy voice, unusually high with a distinct nasal quality. It was the sort of voice a mosquito might have were it granted the gift of speech.

The big knight acquiesced, stepping aside to allow the men passage.

“This isn’t good,” Sylvain muttered, watching through narrowed eyes as the enemy swordsman paused in front of Annette. Felix’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his weapon, his heart beating faster in his chest.

“I’m not going with you!” Annette’s voice rose sharply above the distant sounds of battle. The soldier released an exaggeratedly patient sigh.

“As far as I can tell, there are two ways we go about this,” he told her flatly. “I can assure you that one is infinitely more pleasant than the other.”

“And I can assure you that it is unwise to threaten my daughter in my presence!” Gilbert growled, his eyes smoldering beneath furrowed brows. The soldier actually snorted.

“Brave words Gustave, but consider your situation. You are hardly in a position to be making threats,” he remarked, his tone that of an inconvenienced parent scolding their petulant child.

“Well you are hardly in a position to tell us what to do!” Annette snapped, her fists clenching as she rose to her feet. The soldier’s hand lashed out, catching the girl’s chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger and jerking her closer to him.

“I really think I am,” he growled, his voice dangerous.

Felix had actually taken a step forward before Ingrid’s hand closed around his wrist, halting his advance.

“Wait,” she whispered. “I understand, I do. But getting ourselves killed isn’t going to help them.”

Felix slowly released a breath, hating the sense in her words. They _were_ outnumbered. To charge in now would be foolish, and he would not allow his emotions to overrule his good judgement.

“I see your uncle has yet to teach you compliance,” the soldier was saying to Annette. “Shame. It would have made this easier.”

Gilbert leapt to his feet. Almost instantly the four knights had surrounded him, their lances trained on the man with lethal precision.

“Father!” Annette exclaimed, jerking her chin out of the soldier’s grasp and pushing his hand away. She started toward Gilbert but the swordsman latched onto her wrist, keeping her in place. Annette whipped around and Felix could have sworn he felt the heat of her glare from across the square.

“Come along nicely, if you please. I won’t ask again.” The soldier’s tone was polite, though it was impossible to miss the mockery that lurked just beneath the surface.

“No,” Annette snarled, stepping into an offensive stance. Her hair rose around her face as her fingers sparked with magic. “Tell my uncle he can fight me himself!”

The swordsman laughed before fixing Annette with a derisively pitying gaze.

“He won’t have to.”

That was when the warlock struck.

A stream of purple light shot from the grizzled man’s staff, completely enveloping Annette and lifting her from her feet. She hung there, suspended for the breath of a moment before the magic dissipated, scattering to the winds with a serpentine hiss. No longer supported by the warlock’s spell, the girl fell back to the cobblestone, landing in an undignified heap at the soldier’s feet.

“Annette!” Gilbert roared. Before he could so much as lift his axe, the four knights closed in, keeping the man effectively restrained. The hold Felix had on his sword was painfully tight; his strength fueled by the blistering rage that pooled like acid in his gut. 

“I can’t watch this,” Sylvain said through gritted teeth.

“We can't just charge in without a plan!” Ingrid returned, though she too kept a white-knuckled grip on her weapon.

 _“Then what’s the plan!?”_ Sylvain growled, rounding on her.

Annette meanwhile, had regained her footing, a murderous expression on her face. She threw her hand toward the soldier, fire in her eyes.

Nothing happened.

The girl stood in frozen bewilderment before scowling and trying for a second time. And for a second time, nothing happened.

“It was a silence spell,” Ingrid murmured. “She can’t use her magic.”

Annette seemed to have realized the same thing. For the first time, a shadow of fear flickered across her face.

“Now come along, Miss Dominic,” the soldier said with all the casual cordiality of a dinner invitation. Annette shook her head, taking another step back.

“What if we caused a distraction?” Sylvain suggested desperately. “Maybe gave Gilbert a chance to strike? Something!?”

Ingrid hesitated. Felix tensed.

With the speed of a striking asp, the soldier's fingers closed around Annette’s wrist and jerked her forward. Pain flashed across her face as she tried to wrench away. The soldier only yanked harder as Annette dug her heels into the cobblestones, her fist raining blows on any bit of skin she could find. The man growled in annoyance, wrapping both arms around the mage’s waist and lifting her from her feet.

Felix’s fists clenched.

He did not let his emotions get in the way on the battlefield. He did _not_ let his emotions get in the way on the battlefield! _He did not_ — _!_

“Get…off…me!” Annette snarled, her elbow flying backward and connecting with the soldier’s nose. A nauseating crack echoed across the square. The man bellowed in pain, throwing Annette away from him before cuffing her sharply in the head with a gauntleted hand.

She crumpled and Felix’s resolve shattered.

He burst from the confines of the alley, Sylvian and Ingrid right behind him. To hell with the odds. He would not stand idle!

The trio’s unexpected assault granted them a temporary advantage, one they used to bring down the soldiers closest to their hiding place. Yet the enemy’s confusion was short-lived. The warlock pointed a finger and a moment later the baron’s troops crashed into them with the fury of storm-tossed waves.

Felix’s sword was a blur as he kept the enemy at bay. These soldiers were weak; of a single mind as they charged like sheep into the jaws of a wolf. They relied on their superior numbers to bring them victory and their skill suffered for it. Beside him, Sylvain brought his lance about in a sweeping blow, felling one man and causing two others to leap away.

“Felix!” the redhead shouted, jerking his head toward Annette. “Swoop in! We’ll cover you!”

“Go!” Ingrid agreed, taking down two soldiers who had thought to capitalize on Sylvain’s distraction. Felix didn’t hesitate. The swordsman broke from the mob, taking the path his friends had cleared and trusting them to watch his back. He could see Annette. She had pushed herself upright, an angry gash now marring the skin above her eyebrow. Blood dripped from the wound and trailed down her cheek in a morbid mockery of tears.

The soldier glared at her, one hand lifted to his nose in a futile attempt to staunch his own bleeding. Scowling, he drew his sword. It was a thin blade with a lethal edge. Two grooves had been pressed into the steel to collect the blood it spilled, and the crimson cloth around its hilt was worn with use. It was a cruel weapon, one used to the taste of flesh.

“Remember, I wanted to do this the nice w—!” The soldier didn’t get a chance to finish.

Felix’s blade sliced through the air and only a last-minute step spared the enemy from becoming a literal head shorter. He placed himself between Annette and her captor, forcing his opponent backward and away from the mage. There was no time to look at her; no time to tell her to run. His enemy was formidable, dodging jabs with catlike grace before bringing his own weapon about in wicked rebuttal. Metal screeched as Felix’s blade met his opponent’s in a perfectly timed counter. For the span of two heartbeats they stood face to face. There was a fervency in the enemy swordsman's eyes, one Felix was familiar with. Any other day he too might have been enjoying this fight. But he had seen Annette's blood on this man's hand. No pleasure existed here. The combatants leapt apart, circling each other like hungry wolves.

The enemy moved first, his blade like liquid silver as it sliced through the air. Felix danced backward, his opponent's offensive pressing him toward the center of the square. The two ducked and wove through the colonnade set around the courtyard’s central fountain, Felix cautious not to back into any of the pillars as he parried the assault of eager steel. His opponent was obviously skilled, but Felix could tell by the way the man handled his weapon that he was overconfident. This was a soldier who was used to winning his fights. To him, Felix was nothing more than another notch in his sword. The young man smirked. He planned to capitalize on that arrogance.

A long shadow marked the position of another decorative pillar and Felix dodged toward it, his trap falling into place. The soldier swung his weapon and Felix ducked, the satisfactory crunch of steel on stucco music to his ears. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the soldier’s blade had indeed sunk between the pillar’s ornamental ridges and lodged itself there. The match was over.

“Thanks for a good fight,” Felix said dryly. “It’s a shame you were overconfident.”

"Indeed," his opponent assented, releasing the entrenched blade, his arm dropping heavily at his waist. Felix frowned. The soldier's lip curled. “A trait we seem to share."

His hand shot forward.

Felix winced as something cut into him, sending shocks of agony lancing through his side. He hissed in pain, his eyes meeting his enemy's. A spark of cold satisfaction glinted in their depths. Any chance for mercy was gone. With a growl, Felix brought his sword down and the soldier fell, a sneer still coiled on his lips. 

The young man cursed, his eyes dropping to where a small knife now protruded from beneath his ribs. There was no time for hesitation. He exhaled slowly, bracing himself for what he was about to do. Delicately, his fingers curled around the hilt. Felix clenched his teeth, closed his eyes, and yanked the blade from his flesh.

A burning sensation wracked his body as the weapon slid free, and he had to temporarily steady himself on the nearby pillar. In an attempt to distract from the pain, Felix focused instead on the metal's odd design. It had been forged to resemble the curve of a scorpion tail, its hook-like shape ideal for catching and tearing flesh. Fortunately, the blade itself had been too small to do any significant damage, his lungs spared the ire of the steel. Felix straightened as the agony slowly abated, glaring at the knife in his hand. With a scowl he threw it to the ground, watching his blood spatter the cobblestones as it skidded away.

And he had thought the other man overconfident? His hypocrisy verged on shameful.

In a coincidental stroke of luck, his shirt’s dark material concealed most of the fresh blood. Knowledge of the wound would only cause his companions to worry, and they all had bigger things to focus on than insignificant puncture wounds.

Like the four massive knights bent on taking Annette back to her uncle, for example.

Ingrid and Sylvain were doing a fine job of holding them off, but they were still outnumbered. Hefting his blade, Felix leapt into the fray.

…

Gilbert’s gaze was stony as he faced down his daughter.

“Enough stubbornness, Annette! Fall back until your magic returns! Felix will ensure your safety while Ingrid, Sylvain, and I guard your retreat. We should be more than a match for any new arrivals.”

Felix and the others had managed to take down the square’s remaining soldiers, but somewhere in the ensuing chaos the warlock had slipped away. Now, unless their ears deceived them, a troop of reinforcements was converging on their location. By the sound of things, they would be arriving any moment.

No one had noticed Felix’s injury.

“Father I can fight!” Annette protested. “I’m not going to stay—”

“Without your magic, you are a liability!” Gilbert interrupted, his voice stern, his eyes hard. “I am sorry, but we do not have time for further discussion. Take care of your injuries and meet up with us.”

Annette opened her mouth to argue but paused as Sylvain stepped forward.

“We’ll hold the line at the mouth of that alley,” he said to her, nodding down a narrow roadway branching off toward the center of the city. “We’ll use it as a choke point. Stave off the enemy from there.”

“But—”

“We’ll be fine Annette,” Ingrid interrupted, smiling at the smaller girl. “Take care of yourself and regroup. You would say the same if it were one of us, wouldn’t you?”

“I…” Annette began, then sighed. “…Yes. Just be careful.”

“And don’t do anything reckless,” Felix added, his gaze resting pointedly on Sylvain. His friend grinned at him, a familiar glint of mischief sparking in his eyes.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he retorted. “Keep our princess safe!”

Annette flushed. “I’m not a princess—”

“Go!” Ingrid and Gilbert exclaimed.

They went, making haste down the adjoining alley. The road eventually opened into a second square, this one smaller than the first and void of any colonnades or fountains. Felix kept his hand on his sword, ignoring the throbbing in his side as he scanned their surroundings for any sign of trouble.

“Work!”

The young man blinked and turned to see Annette throwing her hands out, attempting a spell that would not come. Her eyes flared with frustration and she tried again.

“Come on!” she exclaimed. “Come on magic!”

Nothing but silence answered her plea.

The mage’s face crumpled and she dropped onto a nearby stone bench, her hands fisted, shoulders slumped.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” Annette whispered. Her voice was so quiet that Felix wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him at all. This was just as well as he had no idea what to say. Situations like this weren’t made for people like him. Besides, the last time he had tried to be nice to her, she’d nearly blown the kitchen up.

Not sure how else to proceed, Felix opted for practicality.

“Here,” he said to her, holding out his spare vial of salve. “You should take care of that cut.” The girl blinked, bringing her fingers to the wound on her forehead and glancing at the blood it left behind.

“Oh, right. Um, thank you,” she mumbled, accepting the little jar. Her fingers tightened around the cap and twisted, yet it remained stubbornly in place. She tried again, to no avail. Felix watched with raised brows as, no matter how hard she strained, the bottle stayed doggedly closed.

“Don’t make me smash you!” she exclaimed suddenly, glaring at the medicine in her hand and giving it an angry shake.

“Calm down,” Felix told her, plucking the vial from her fingers before her frustrations could launch it into oblivion. “Let me do it.”

Annette huffed but scooted over so he could join her on the bench. He did so and gave the cap a wrench of his own. The stubborn thing released a protesting squelch then popped into his hand.

“There,” he said, holding the salve out to her. “No need to smash it like a crazy person.” Annette bit her lip, dipping her fingers into the medicine and dabbing at her wound.

“I know,” she mumbled, avoiding his eyes. “I guess, after everything that happened today, I’d just kind of…had it.”

The corner of Felix’s mouth quirked.

“The School of Sorcery’s top graduate done in by a bottle cap. It’s a shame,” he said dryly. The girl rounded on him, her eyes sparking.

“Felix! I’m being serious!” she snapped.

“No, you’re being ridiculous,” the swordsman retorted. “You’re an accomplished mage. Stop acting like you’re not.”

Annette’s lips pressed together. “An accomplished mage wouldn’t have gotten herself into this situation,” she retorted, gesturing at herself. “An accomplished mage would be helping her friends.”

Felix sighed. He was getting nowhere. Ingrid should have been the one to stay back. Or Sylvain. This whole thing was ridiculous anyway. He was a warrior. He didn’t…comfort people. The swordsman opened his mouth to tell her so but paused, distracted by her injury.

“You missed a spot,” he said flatly.

Annette frowned. “What? Where?” she asked, wincing as she dabbed her fingers along the wound.

“Closer to your hairline,” Felix responded.

“Here?”

“No, to the right. You can’t feel it?”

“No Felix, I can’t _feel it_. It all hurts! Besides I can’t see my own face, stop being mean!”

“What?! I’m trying to be—Fine, just stop—stop! I’ll do it. Geez.”

Felix removed his glove, not wanting to get salve all over the fabric, and carefully dipped his fingers into the vial. Annette bit her lip as he lifted his hand to her face, her eyes fixed stubbornly on her lap. As gently as he could, the swordsman began to dab the medicine over the exposed wound, feeling oddly self-conscious. He knew the basics of first aid, any soldier worth their salt did, yet he was not terribly practiced at assisting someone else. To top it all off, his face felt oddly warm for some reason.

He had never wanted to see Mercedes so badly in his life.

“I felt so stupid…”

Annette’s quiet words pulled Felix from his thoughts and he paused, his fingers hovering inches from her skin.

“What?”

“In the kitchen, with you. When I started that fire and burned myself. I’ve always been a bit spacey but I just… I wanted to prove that I wasn’t a nuisance. I thought if I could get my hands on House Dominic’s relic, maybe I could make up for all the clumsy things I’d done. Only…” she trailed off, her fingers clenching tighter in her lap. “…I ended up a liability. Again.”

It was not lost on Felix that she’d used the same word Gilbert had when he’d ordered their retreat. _Liability._ The mage pressed on. “Right now, our friends are fighting and I’m just _sitting_ here,” she murmured, the words pained. Her eyes squeezed shut and she grimaced. “Pathetic.”

Two tears slid down her cheeks and plunged to the cobblestones below.

“So, stand up.”

Annette blinked, startled into meeting the swordsman’s eyes.

“What?”

“Stand up, Annette,” Felix repeated. “You’re right. Sitting on this bench isn’t going to change your uncle’s mind. Crying to me isn’t going to get you the relic. Didn’t you graduate from that sorcery school at the top of your class? Didn’t you earn your way into the Officer’s Academy?” She stared at him, but he wasn’t finished. “You can throw the word ‘pathetic’ around all you want but as far as I’m concerned, it’s an insult to everything you’ve accomplished so far. You’re better than that.”

His words weren’t comforting, he could tell that by the look on her face. But he was also fully aware of just how capable Annette could be. To see her questioning that was…irritating. Silence settled over them, a silence Felix wasn’t entirely sure how to fill. He seemed to have startled her tears away at least. So that was something. He cleared his throat, twisting the lid back onto the salve bottle and nodding at the bandages in her lap.

“You should put those on,” he muttered. “At least until your magic comes back.”

“R-right,” Annette mumbled.

Once the dressing was secured, she glanced back up at him with wide, inquiring eyes. “Does it look dumb?” she asked hesitantly, pointing at her forehead. Felix gave her a flat look.

“It’s a bandage. It looks like a bandage,” he retorted.

Annette’s eyes narrowed, the only warning he got before she nailed him in the side with the back of her hand.

“You’re the worst, Felix!”

He barely heard the words. The second her hand had contacted his wound, pain had lanced through his side like a molten spear. This was followed by a dizziness so potent he thought he might fall off the bench. Annette’s face faltered as he grimaced.

“What’s wrong? Felix?” She reached out to steady him but paused as her gaze caught on the back of her hand. There was blood there. His blood. Her eyes widened in alarm. “You’re—!” she started, but wasn’t given the chance to finish.

Running footsteps hailed the arrival of Ingrid, Sylvain, and Gilbert, the three of them sprinting into the square a moment later.

“Reinforcements on the way,” Gilbert stated breathlessly, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder. “If we stay here, we’ll be penned in. Our forces should be close. We need to—!” He cut off, his head snapping up. Felix had heard it too: Hoof beats and clanking armor. Soldiers shouting to each other. Orders being bellowed.

“Too late,” Ingrid murmured.

Then the enemy was flooding in, spilling from the roadways and alleys like wine from an overturned glass. They formed rank, their lines crisp and organized. A command was bellowed and, in unison, each soldier stepped smartly to the side. A regal looking man in sparkling plate trotted forth on the back of an imposing chestnut mare, his shoulders thrown back, a lance bearing the mark of House Dominic clasped in his hand.

“Uncle,” Annette whispered, resignation in her voice. 

Baron Dominic’s facial features hid beneath a helmet of white and gold, the glint of his eyes barely visible through the slat at its center. Felix felt himself tense and he resisted the near overpowering urge to bring a hand to his side. Now was not the time for weakness.

The baron pulled his steed up short, taking a moment to look over their small force. When he spoke, it was with an air of command. Like the people standing before him were nothing more than disobedient foot soldiers.

“Annette. Gustave. Cease this foolishness at once.”

“We have no quarrel with you, brother,” Gilbert stated, stepping up to address the baron from the fore of the group. “Relinquish the relic and we will leave you in peace.”

“You know I cannot do that,” the baron responded.

“And you know we cannot leave without it,” Gilbert returned. Baron Dominic sighed, shaking his head and turning his attention to his niece.

“Annette, you must see the foolishness in this,” he stated. Felix saw Annette’s fists clench and unclench in his peripherals. Whether the gesture was a manifestation of nerves or another attempt to summon her magic, he couldn’t be sure.

“Please Uncle!” she begged. “We can fight the Empire! We can fight Edelgard! If you would just help us…”

The baron shook his head again. 

“I will not support such folly. Come back to the manor, Annette. Join me and your mother. You know you and your companions are outnumbered. If you come with me now, I will willingly spare their lives.” His tone was resolved. On this, he would not budge.

Annette hesitated for only a moment before she straightened her shoulders, lifting her head high. 

“I don’t want to fight you, Uncle,” she said honestly. “But for the sake of our kingdom, we are not leaving without the relic.”

The baron sighed. It was a long, resigned sound that ended with the heft of his lance. 

“Then you leave me no choice,” he murmured. The man’s hand rose and his soldiers charged forward, parting around the baron like a stream around a stone.

“Magic?” Felix hissed as their enemy converged upon them. Annette threw her hand forward, features furrowed in concentration. Nothing happened.

“No!”

Felix swore and pulled her back, handing her the dagger he usually kept strapped to his belt.

“Then take this and stay behind me!”

He saw her eyes flick to his side; saw the hesitation, the concern resting in that gaze. There was no time to address it. No time to do anything but fight as the wave of enemy soldiers crashed into them.

Felix’s blade sang as it swung through the air, its melody matching a softer harmony that lilted up from the depths of his mind. It was her song—her voice—stirring from the secret places of his heart. He forgot his hurts, his focus narrowing to himself, his sword, and the soldiers fool enough to challenge him. His comrades stood strong on his right and left, having fallen into a practiced defensive formation that came as naturally as breathing. They were a wall, protecting each other from the tempest of the enemy.

Protecting _her._

Felix’s jaw tightened and he struck with renewed fervor, forcing the soldiers back. They approached more hesitantly, wary of the swordsman and his darting blade. Their comrades, groaning and defeated at his feet, were a very persuasive warning. Sweat beaded on his brow, his wound throbbing in time with the pounding in his chest. Even so, his sword arm did not waver.

“Fall back!”

Felix blinked, the baron’s sudden order catching him off guard. Fall back? Annette was clearly outnumbered. Why would the man order a retreat?

That was when the warlock stepped from the cover of the alley.

Felix saw the man raise his staff. Felt the ground beneath his feet begin to tremble. The bottom of his stomach dropped into his boots as he realized what was about to happen.

And they had clumped together so perfectly. Like ducks in a pond.

“Look out!”

Felix felt arms close around him, a small body slamming into his and throwing him off balance. The ground gave a great heave, belching angry flames into the air and sending fire and debris flying in every direction. Felix felt a searing heat rush over him as he was blasted sideways, bolganone sending him into a disorienting tumble of smoke and upended sky. He hit the cobblestones a second later, whoever had latched onto him ripped away by the force of their momentum. The swordsman skidded across the ground, only coming to a halt when his body slammed into the unforgiving stone of the city wall.

Felix lay stunned for a second, curled in on himself, his eyes squeezed shut against the blinding flash of flames, his side burning with renewed agony. The smell of smoke and burning stone assaulted his senses, his mouth tasting of blood and dirt. Everything hurt, not just his wound, though that was by far the worst. He could hear nothing through the ringing in his ears, the normally cacophonous sound of combat muted in the wake of the explosion.

He had to get up. For the goddess’s sake, _this was a battle!_ He had to move!

The swordsman’s eyes cracked open and he squinted through the smoke dancing wickedly upon the air. Everything was chaos. Where were his companions? Someone had knocked into him, hadn’t they? Were they alright? He pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning against the stone wall for support as his vision swam slowly into focus.

Annette was stumbling toward him, making her way carefully through the rubble of the once orderly square. The bandage had been ripped from her forehead, the gash beneath open and bleeding once more. She had been the one to shield him from the brunt of the spell; that was obvious from the burns that littered her skin. The mage's mouth moved as their eyes met, but his ears were ringing too loudly to make out what she said. Still, there was a frantic expression on her face and as she neared, Annette gestured to his wound. Felix glanced down.

His meeting with the cobblestones had torn his shirt enough to reveal the extent of the damage. A significant amount of blood had pooled around the puncture and bits of debris peppered his exposed flesh. But that was not the worst of it. The skin surrounding the wound had taken on a disconcertingly greenish pallor; its sick, unnatural color speaking to one thing.

Poison. Likely from a venin blade.

Felix grimaced as the pieces fell into place. No wonder that soldier had seemed so smug. He had died with the knowledge that, despite his loss, he had won. His knife didn’t have to cut deeply to kill.

Then Annette was there and as the ringing in Felix’s ears faded, he was at last able to hear her voice.

“…biggest hypocrite! After telling me not to hide my wounds!? Felix, why wouldn’t you let us know?! _Why didn’t you say anything?!_ ”

She was telling him off. Even as tears spilled from her eyes.

“Sorry…” he muttered. “Looks like you’re not the only one who makes a mess of things.”

Despite everything, she smiled. It was a tiny, watery thing, but beautiful all the same.

“Try to stay still,” she whispered. “It might help slow the poison. Mercie should be here soon, and the professor. But…but just in case, I’m going to try…” she trailed off before taking a deep breath. Her hands moved to hover just above his wound, her eyes squeezed shut, lips forming silent words. Praying, Felix realized with a start. She was praying to the goddess.

Yet no light pulsed at her fingertips. No comforting glow assuaged his injury.

A tiny sob escaped her then, the girl’s fingers tightening into fists, her forehead dipping to rest upon his shoulder.

“Come on magic,” Annette whispered, her voice raw. Desperate. “Come on magic…come on…”

The rise of clashing weapons nearly drowned out the sound of her pleas, enemy soldiers descending once again now that the threat of bolganone had passed. Felix warily lifted his gaze and watched Sylvain fighting to get to Ingrid, the girl struggling to fend off three swordsmen at once. Gilbert’s path was blocked by a wall of great knights, a combination of plate armor and lances keeping the man at bay. They would be overrun soon…all of them.

Felix gritted his teeth. Injury be damned. Poison be damned. He would not sit and do nothing.

“I’m going to fight,” he growled, pushing away from the wall. “They’ll die if we just sit here.”

“What!? No! Felix, look at yourself!” Annette protested, placing a hand on his arm.

A shadow fell across them before he could reply. Even before Felix lifted his eyes, he knew who he was going to see.

The baron sat tall and proud upon his mount, his shining armor an odd contrast to the grit and debris that coated everything else. He had removed his helmet and the expression he wore beneath was grim.

“Are you ready to give up?” the man asked. There was no thrill in his voice, just quiet resignation. Annette met his gaze, the fury in her eyes unquestionable. 

“How could you think I would? After this?” She gestured at the pandemonium that surrounded them. The baron contemplated her for a moment.

“You forced my hand, Annette,” he murmured. “I had no choice.” His gaze shifted to Felix and the swordsman suddenly felt the absence of his blade like the void of a missing limb. It was lying only feet away, torn from him by bolganone’s wrath. “Fraldarius,” the baron murmured. “I was sorry to hear about your father, however your own life is not beyond saving. Just tell my niece to come home and I'll retrieve a proper healer.”

Anger boiled inside Felix at the mention of Rodrigue. At the baron’s attempt to use Felix’s weakness to force Annette back to his side. The young man lurched forward, ignoring his body’s protests and the fresh blood that spattered the cobblestone. He would reclaim his sword. He would use it to shove those words back down the baron’s throat.

Then Annette was in front of him, facing down the baron, the dagger Felix had given her pointed at her uncle.

“That’s enough!” she snarled. Baron Dominic sighed.

“You won’t fight me Annette," he stated warily. "As I said, come along and I’ll get the boy the help he needs." Felix could see Annette’s hand trembling, but her response was as unwavering as stone.

“If you cared at all, you’d help him anyway!”

The baron actually growled in frustration, his patience clearly wearing thin. In the blink of an eye he swung his lance at her, an impressively precise blow that crashed into the dagger with alarming force. The girl stumbled under the strength of the swing, but she did not falter. Instead, Annette drove her dagger upward in a counter motion that she must have picked up from the training grounds. Yes, that was definitely one of his moves, Felix thought to himself. Had she been watching him that closely?

But despite her best intentions, a dagger was hardly a match for a lance. The baron countered her next strike easily, knocking the small blade from her hands with a disdainful snort.

“How many times must I ask before you’ll comply?” the man growled, his attention on his niece. “What will it take to make you _listen_?!” 

Felix saw his opening. Ignoring his pain, he lunged forward and his fingers closed on the hilt of his sword. Rounding on the baron, Felix swung the weapon in an upward sweep that cut an angry line across his opponent’s bicep. As the man reeled, Felix pressed his advantage, stepping forward and—! A wave of dizziness crashed into him with the debilitating force of a descending hammer. He stumbled.

It was the opening the baron had been waiting for. Whirling his lance about, the man brought the butt of his weapon down, directly into Felix’s wounded side.

Annette screamed as stars burst before Felix’s eyes, his world condensing into a single, blistering ball of agony. He fell to one knee, the tip of his sword digging into the ground as his sweaty fingers clutched the hilt. It was the only thing keeping him upright.

As he struggled to breathe, struggled to keep the cobblestones at bay, Felix felt something sharp and unforgiving kiss his chest. It was the tip of the baron’s lance, the weapon poised to kill. Felix lifted his gaze, knowing he was a bloody mess; knowing he might be a breath away from death. He glared defiantly anyway.

“Make your choice Annette!” the baron shouted, his voice rising over the din of battle. “I won’t ask again!”

Annette had frozen where she stood. All the blood was gone from her face; her hand lifted for a spell that would not come. Soundlessly, she mouthed his name. 

“ _Felix!_ ”

The swordsman’s eyes darted to the side in time to see Sylvain charge forward, an unfamiliar desperation on his friend’s face. The enemy took advantage of the knight’s distraction, the shaft of a soldier’s spear catching Sylvain across the chest and knocking him to the ground. Felix growled, trying to rise to his feet despite his body’s agonizing protests. A sharp pain bit into his chest, the baron’s lance digging in enough to draw blood.

“I really wouldn’t,” the man murmured. Felix stilled, his fists clenching. Yet even as the enemy converged on Sylvain, a blur of singing steel wind-milled through them, scattering the soldiers like leaves in the wind. Then Ingrid was there, placing herself pointedly between Sylvain and danger. She hefted her lance threateningly at the soldiers, but her eyes flicked to Felix, the motion betraying her fear.

“Enough!” the baron shouted, his voice echoing around the square. “If any one of you so much as lifts a finger, I’ll run the Fraldarius boy through!” The man’s eyes blazed as he stared his enemies down, ensuring they were properly subdued before his gaze rested on Annette. “Last chance, niece,” he growled. “Come with me. Leave this foolishness behind.”

For a single heartbeat, Felix thought she might refuse. Then, at long last, her shoulders hunched in defeat.

“I…I’ll go with you,” she whispered, her voice audible in the stillness that had had fallen across the square. “Just, don’t kill him. Please.”

Felix’s fists clenched. He wanted to stop her. _Had_ to stop her! But the reality of his situation was too evident to ignore. All it would take was one push from that lance and Felix’s life would be over. Now he was the liability. He was the one holding the others back. His weakness. His failure.

It was in this moment of hopelessness that Annette’s voice drifted again into his mind. Words she had spoken in subdued and vulnerable tones. A breath of recent memory.

_“This isn’t how it was supposed to go…”_

And then Felix’s own voice in response.

_“So, stand up.”_

What was he doing now? Kneeling on the ground with a lance to his chest? Allowing _himself_ to be the reason Annette was taken away?

 _Pathetic_.

The same word Annette herself had used not an hour ago.

 _‘You’re better than that,’_ he had told her.

Was he?

Felix lifted his eyes to the man before him.

Baron Dominic didn’t seem to notice. His jaw was clenched, lips twisted in a near grimace as he watched his niece move toward him. Felix narrowed his eyes. The baron’s features held no sign of triumph. They reflected no glee at the victory he had clearly won. Annette was returning to him, yet it was not satisfaction that glistened in his eyes…but regret.

And just like that, Felix understood.

Baron Dominic was playing a role; one he had cast upon himself for the sake of his territory. The man was not a part of the empire, but he would raise a lance against his allies if it meant his people stayed free.

The only question was how deep did that resolve run? How far would this man go to stay his course?

An idea began to form in the back of Felix’s mind, a point of clarity amidst the haze of pain and nausea. It was a reckless thought, and one very likely to get him killed. Yet he refused to fold beneath the weight of that fear. Refused to court his own hypocrisy. He had told Annette to stand, so how could he do anything less?

The baron was speaking again, gesturing to the soldiers surrounding Annette. “You men! Escort my niece back to the estate and ensure she goes nowhere until—”

“Aren’t you overdoing it?”

Felix’s voice was a snarl of smoke and grit, but his words reached the baron anyway. Slowly the man turned, his face a careful mask of disdain.

“Excuse me?”

Baron Dominic’s voice was low, a breath away from dangerous. A pretense, Felix thought to himself, to hide the hesitation lurking beneath. The swordsman smirked, blood on his lips. 

“This show you’re putting on,” Felix replied. “It’s gone on long enough, hasn’t it? Losing loyal soldiers? Threatening your family? How far are you willing to fall to avoid the empire’s ire?”

The baron stared at him mutely, the young man’s diatribe seeming to have struck a nerve. A moment passed and Baron Dominic gave his head a shake, his eyes narrowing as he pushed the lance deeper into his captive’s skin. Felix suppressed the urge to wince as blood pooled beneath the weapon’s tip and trailed down his shirt.

“Stop antagonizing him, idiot!”

Sylvain’s words. His friend’s face was white, his eyes blazing.

“You are inches from death, boy,” Baron Dominic murmured. Felix looked him straight in the eye.

“Then do it,” he challenged. “Run me through.”


	2. Chapter 2

Silence fell over the square, heavy in its absolution. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. All eyes were on the Baron Dominic. Outwardly, the man was the picture of calm, only the slight tilt of his head betraying his confusion. He regarded Felix.

“You would ask for death?” the baron asked. He spoke slowly, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what he’d heard. Felix’s lip curled and he gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder. 

“My old man respected you,” he stated, ignoring the question. “Gilbert says you’re a good man.” The baron flinched and Felix’s eyes hardened, determined to twist his verbal knife a little further. “So do it, _good man_. Kill the son of your dead ally.”

Sylvain lurched forward, shattering the stillness that had fallen over the soldiers.

“What the hell, Felix!?” he shouted. The baron stiffened at the sudden exclamation, but before Sylvain could make it more than two paces, Ingrid was beside him. Her fingers closed around the young man’s wrist, halting him in place. Sylvain glared at her. “Let me go Ingrid!” She shook her head. There was fear in her eyes, but it was not fear for her own safety. Her gaze slid to Felix; to the lance held against his chest. The swordsman could see the girl’s fingers trembling, the death grip she maintained on Sylvain as much for herself as it was for him. She was thinking about Glenn, Felix realized. She was terrified at the prospect of losing yet another loved one.

Sylvain must have realized this too. His jaw clenched, but he stayed in place, his hands curled in two mutinous fists. Felix returned his gaze to the baron. He could not back down now. Not when he’d pushed things this far.

“Well?” he asked, his voice low.

“Felix, I swear—!" Sylvain shouted, his face pale, arm rigid in Ingrid’s grasp.

The baron hesitated, doubt pooling in the depths of his eyes. Everyone within the walls watched Felix’s life hang on the edge of that lance; a collective breath held in utter stillness. One heartbeat passed. Then two.

Baron Dominic’s spine straightened.

“Do not doubt the lengths to which I would go to defend my people,” he hissed, pulling his weapon back to strike.

_“FELIX!”_

The swordsman wasn’t sure which of his comrades yelled his name: Ingrid, Annette, or Sylvain. Perhaps all three. He was distantly aware of them dashing forward, determined to stop a blow they could not intercept. His gaze remained on the baron; fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. Baron Dominic stared back, his lance descending, Felix’s death written on the polished steel. The young man braced himself, waiting for the inevitable bite of metal slicing flesh.

It didn’t come.

For the breath of a moment the resolve in the baron’s eyes faltered, but that breath was all it took. The lance paused a hair’s breadth from Felix’s heart… and a snarl of incensed wind slammed into the baron. The spell howled like a pack of demonic wolves as it plucked the man from his saddle, throwing him away from the swordsman and onto the cobblestone. Baron Dominic skidded across the ground in a flail of arms and legs, coming to an abrupt halt against the base of the perimeter wall. He gave his head a disoriented shake as soldiers protectively closed rank around him. 

Felix blinked in disbelief.

Annette was still glowing from the aftereffects of the spell, her hair floating around her face, the symbol of her crest imprinted in the air before her. The mage’s eyes blazed with an incendiary strength, one that had burned the silence spell to ash. She stood tall against the might of their enemies, one small figure in the face of an army. The swordsman set his jaw. She would not be standing alone. Somehow, he found the strength to rise.

Annette whirled toward him. “Felix! Are you—”

“I’m fine,” he confirmed, resting his hand on her shoulder and gently turning her back toward the enemy. “Don’t get distracted.”

As if on cue, a reedy voice broke through the silence.

“Cover Baron Dominic!” it bellowed. “I will take care of the girl.”

Felix tensed as the warlock stepped through the smoke. The grizzled man’s staff glowed with an eerie purple light, the prelude to another silence spell. Both of his beetle black eyes were fixed on Annette. Felix’s grip tightened on his sword. If that man thought he could attack her again, he had another thing coming. The swordsman took a deliberate step forward, ignoring the pain. Ignoring the blood.

The warlock smirked; but then Annette was there. She stared fiercely up at Felix, having placed herself between him and the enemy’s glowing staff. Her hands were clenched into fists, her fingers sparking with power. 

“I’ve got this,” she growled.

The edge in her voice could have sliced through steel.

Felix stared down at her, drinking in the determination and courage reflected in the cobalt of her eyes. That ferocity. That _strength._ It was beautiful.

 _She_ was beautiful.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Give him hell,” he murmured.

Annette’s face broke into a smile. She nodded.

Purple light flashed as the warlock brandished his staff. Annette snarled and whirled around, throwing her hand forward and releasing a blast of lethal wind from her fingertips. The warlock gasped as her tempest sliced through his spell, picked him up, and hurled him into a pile of nearby debris.

“How do you like that!?” Annette shouted, her hair streaming behind her as she charged forward. The warlock burst from the stone, enraged, but very much alive.

Felix could no longer afford to watch. His own opponents were swarming toward him, the soldiers’ faces lined in grim determination. The enemy knew that he was injured and thought him an easier target for it. The bite of his sword revealed their folly.

But for all of Felix’s strength, the poison was taking its toll. The wound itself had been exacerbated by the baron’s lance and blood continued to dribble down his side. Slowly but surely, his body was failing. His blade grew heavier with every passing second and he cursed the lethargy of his arms. Still, he would not quit. Moments like this were why he trained. Why he spent hour after endless hour hitting a dummy with a sword. Easy victories meant nothing. It was here, with the odds irrevocably stacked against him, that Felix could prove the sort of warrior that he was.

A descending axe rent cobblestone in place of flesh as Felix stepped aside, his blade singing a soldier's requiem. An armored knight rushed to fill the space, her lance darting like a striking asp. She stumbled as her weapon glanced off Felix's sword, and he found the chink in her plate. And so it continued, soldier after soldier succumbing to a perfect symphony of strength and swordplay. It wouldn't last much longer. Felix's vision was already beginning to swim, his heart pounding erratically in his chest.

“Gonna need you to move!”

The swordsman blinked as a familiar war cry rose above the din of battle; jarring him from the trance he’d fallen into. Sylvain was suddenly beside him, taking down an enemy soldier with a perfectly precise swing of his lance. A few feet away, Ingrid disposed of two more men, her weapon a blur of lethal silver. Felix released a breath as the enemy backed away, his comrades’ intervention earning him a slight reprieve. 

“Thanks,” he muttered, his eyes meeting Sylvain’s. The red-head shrugged, hefting his lance as their enemy regrouped and converged on them again.

“I didn’t want anyone to kill you before I got the chance,” he said matter-of-factly. “Seriously Felix. You are never allowed to call me reckless again.”

A small smile ghosted across the swordsman’s lips.

The battle continued to rage. In the midst of the chaos, Gilbert had managed to cut a path to his brother, and the two clashed in a desperate feud. Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain did their best to keep the remaining soldiers at bay, but all three were beginning to fade. Felix could see it in the slight dip of Ingrid's lance. In the delay of Sylvain’s counter as he parried an enemy thrust.

“We’re going to be overrun!” Ingrid gasped, dropping a solider to his knees with the butt of her weapon.

“We just have to hold out a little longer." Sylvain's voice was tight, blood dripping from a fresh cut to his temple. “The professor, Dimitri, everyone. They’ll be here.”

“Besides,” Felix growled. “There isn’t anywhere to retreat to.”

He was right and they all knew it, the knowledge looming as inescapably as the walls penning them in.

“Can we—” Ingrid began. She never got the chance to finish.

A massive column of light plummeted from the heavens, slamming into the cobblestone and sending debris everywhere. Startled exclamations rang out as soldiers leapt for cover, shielding their eyes from the brilliance of the spell. Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain were buffeted backward, the three of them grabbing hold of each other as wind peeled from the glowing column and whipped in every direction. For a moment everything was chaos. Then, slowly but surely, the light began to fade, dissipating as quickly as it came.

Felix blinked shadowy after-images from his eyes, extracting himself from Sylvain and Ingrid and staring toward the center of the square. He half expected to see Byleth standing there, the Sword of the Creator at her side, her enemies vanquished at her feet. Yet it was not their professor standing tall in the wake of the spell, but Annette. The girl’s arms were extended, her shoulders heaving with exertion, but the satisfaction on her face was impossible to miss.

The warlock stood in the crater Abraxas had left behind, his lips parted in shock, his staff cloven in two. He snarled, took one wavering step forward, and crumpled like a dry leaf.

Murmurs of disbelief rippled through the baron’s soldiers as they stared at the fallen man. More than one of them took a wary step away from Annette. Felix, on the other hand, couldn’t take his eyes off her. The courageous, spit-fire of a girl practically glowed in the throes of her power. How had she ever thought herself a burden?

Annette’s fingers were trembling, whether at the magnitude of what she’d just done, or as an aftereffect of the spell, Felix didn’t know. But he saw the pallor of her face. The sheen of sweat upon her brow. And when her first step wavered, Felix moved without thinking. Ignoring his own pains, he covered the short distance between them and caught her shoulders, steadying her before she could fall. Annette blinked, staring up at him in surprise.

“Felix?” she breathed.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Annette leaned into his touch, taking a second to simply breathe. He felt the moment she steeled herself; felt lithe muscles tense as she lifted her gaze, fixing the baron with a glare of pure flame.

“Relinquish the relic, Uncle,” she commanded, her weakness of moments ago forgotten. “We will not ask again.”

The baron hesitated, his eyes flicking from the wary faces of his soldiers, to the determined features of his niece. For a moment, he faltered. 

That was when they heard it: Pounding feet. Clanking armor. Raised voices issuing commands. The intelligible sounds of a mobilized army, one that was bearing down upon them with alarming speed.

“You have got to be kidding,” Sylvain muttered.

“ _More_ reinforcements?” Ingrid confirmed disbelievingly, her expression grim.

The army was almost upon them now. Felix could feel the ground beneath his boots shaking under the strain of countless armored feet. Baron Dominic’s face lifted, his indecision snuffed like a candleflame. He raised his fist into the air.

“Our objective has not changed! Dominic soldiers! Bring my niece to me!” he shouted as troops began to pour into the square.

Yet these reinforcements did not march beneath the flag of House Dominic. Instead the sun glinted across row upon row of sparkling argent plate. Banners of silver and blue snapped proudly in the breeze, banners held aloft by very familiar faces.

Sylvain whooped enthusiastically and even Felix couldn’t stop the wolfish grin that broke across his face.

Dimitri and Dedue charged into Baron Dominic’s soldiers, leading the Knights of Seiros and the Kingdom Army forward in an organized stampede. Ashe peppered arrows upon their enemy with lethal precision, the sniper positioned safely behind Catherine and a thrumming Thunderbrand.

“There’s Mercie!” Annette exclaimed, seeming to temporarily forget that they were on a battlefield in her excitement to see her friend. Mercedes winked before returning her focus to the enemy.

In the center of it all stood Byleth, looking very much 'The Goddess Reborn' as her hair streamed around her, the Sword of the Creator glowing in her hand. She wielded her commanding presence like a second blade, enemy soldiers falling away from her of their own accord, their faces a mixture of awe and fear.

Felix watched Baron Dominic, the man’s expression bleak as he stared across the battlefield. The brothers had ceased their fighting, Gilbert looking on as the other man surveyed the scattered Dominic troops. At long last the baron stepped forward, his expression resolute.

“Enough!” the man bellowed, the wind catching his voice and pitching it above the sounds of battle. “Cease this madness!”

It took a moment for the soldiers to recognize the command, and several more for them to actually adhere to it. But eventually the cacophony ebbed, then died completely as faces turned in wary inquiry. Baron Dominic’s gaze met his soldiers’, his mouth a determined line as he slowly and deliberately raised his lance into the air. He held it aloft a moment, steeled himself, then threw the weapon to the ground. The metal reverberated loudly as it bounced against the unforgiving cobblestone, rolled forward, and came to a halt at Annette’s feet. For a tense moment, niece and uncle regarded each other. Then Baron Dominic bowed his head and Annette smiled.

The baron turned to his brother. “Enough Gustave,” he murmured again. “I surrender.”

Felix felt the adrenaline leave his body as his allies roared their approval, its absence leaving him reeling. He wanted to revel in their victory; wanted to congratulate Annette on a hard-won success. But his limbs were turning to lead and an uncomfortable burning sensation had begun to seep through his veins. The ground roiled beneath him, as though the stone had been transformed into ocean swells. Voices dimmed and blended together, melding into a single, indiscernible buzz. A hand appeared on his arm and he turned to see Annette staring up at him, looking distinctly concerned. She said something, but her words were muddled. Everything was muted, as if the battleground had been suddenly, and inexplicably, plunged underwater. He opened his mouth, and the world turned on its side.

Annette’s arms were around him before Felix even realized he was falling, his weight taking them both to the ground.

“Felix? Felix! Stay with us!” Annette gasped, her arms cradling his head and shoulders. “Mercie’s here! She’s right here! We’re going to help you! Hold on, okay?”

The swordsman tried to respond, but his voice didn’t seem to be working properly. He was barely aware of Mercedes sprinting over, Sylvain and Ingrid on her heels. The bishop knelt at his side, her face grim, her hands pulsing with white light. His comrades collapsed beside her, Ingrid with her hands over her mouth, Sylvain with his fists clenched tight.

Tired…Felix was so tired…

Unconsciousness called to him, as gentle and alluring as waves lapping on a lakeshore. Darkness beckoned in velvet tones, promising sweet release from the agony that lanced through his side. His limbs burned with an unnatural fire, as if the blood had turned to magma in his veins. Felix was losing himself to it. Falling further and further away from the waking world…

And then, softly, sorrowfully, a voice began to sing. The notes were pure and bright, a life boat floating above the sea of his unconscious mind. The voice called to him, drawing him out of the depths. Beckoning him back to the surface. Just for a little longer. 

His eyes fluttered and he found Annette’s face. She was crying again, singing through her tears. He could not make out the words, but the melody soothed his aching wound as effectively as the magic that pulsed from Mercedes’ hands. As the last notes of her song dissipated upon the breeze, the girl lowered her forehead to his, murmuring words Felix could barely make out. 

“I…I made up a new song. That was only the first verse.”

The depths were calling, pulling him back under. He couldn’t see her face anymore; could barely hear her voice as she whispered to him.

“I won’t… I won’t sing the rest until you wake up, okay? So…so you _have_ to wake up Felix. Or you’ll never get to hear how it ends…”

He was sinking, down, down, down beneath the waves of unconsciousness. Her voice was a distant echo lilting upon the surface. So very, very far away.

 _“It’s okay,”_ the echo breathed. _“I’ve got you…”_

And then there was warmth as soft lips pressed gingerly to his own, so delicately he might have imagined it.

A hope.

A promise.

Then that wonderful warmth melted away and he knew quiet and darkness.

And then nothing at all.

…………

Felix was floating. Garbled voices moved in and out of his consciousness. Voices he knew he recognized, knew he cared about, but couldn’t place. He felt the bitter ache of something _not right_ seeping through his veins, a cooling sensation as white magic pushed it away; and then burning agony as that _wrongness_ fought back. It consumed his mind, biting and clawing at his consciousness with a ferocity that threatened to overwhelm him. He was left shredded and gasping in its wake, hanging by a thread above an encompassing darkness. Voices beckoned to him from somewhere just beyond that undulating shroud. Voices he recognized. Voices he loved.

Glenn… His father…

Their whispers rose from the void, drifting to his ears with agonizing familiarity. Felix couldn’t remember the last time he had heard them so clearly; before they had been warped by the inconsistencies of time and memory. He could see them, if he wanted. Somehow, he knew it possible. He could go right now. It wouldn’t take much. The tether keeping him here was already fraying. All it would take was one… sharp… tug…

And then he heard it. A third voice that permeated through the depths of his consciousness. A song that drowned out the murmuring dark with bright, crystalline notes. The music strengthened his weary soul, flooding his mind with images of what letting go would cost. Of _who_ it would cost:

_Sylvain…Ingrid…Dimitri…The professor…His classmates…_

_A girl with the sun in her smile and a song on her lips…_

He hesitated. It _would_ be easy to let go. To slip silently away into a blissful, permanent sleep...

But Felix had always preferred a challenge.

He turned away from the darkness and allowed the lullaby to wash over him, its warmth enveloping his soul and keeping the void at bay. The melody acted as an anchor, keeping him tethered as the poison raged, hearing its death knell in the notes of the song.

With a sigh of finality, the _wrongness_ at last faded away. His veins ceased their burning, the pain in his side calming to an uncomfortable itch. His mind began its slow rise to the surface of consciousness, bringing with it the sound of familiar banter.

“…been four days already. He is going to wake up, right?”

“Manuela said he would pull through. She _does_ know what she’s talking about, in this regard at least.”

“And we’re _sure_ she wasn’t drunk when she said that?”

“Sylvain!”

“What!? It’s a valid question!”

“I’m…not arguing that. I’d just hoped that you might be taking this whole situation a bit more seriously.”

“I _am_ taking it seriously. Felix won’t die. He knows I’d kill him if he did.” A pause. “…Besides this whole putting on a brave face thing is doing wonders for my luck with the ladies.”

“You are unbelievable!”

Felix slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the sunlight streaming in through the infirmary’s open window. Two chairs had been placed by his bedside, both of which were currently occupied by Ingrid and Sylvain. The pair appeared to have frozen halfway through an argument, their eyes fixed on Felix in hopeful anticipation.

“Hey,” he croaked, peering at his friends through half-lidded eyes. His throat had never felt so dry, and he was pretty sure someone had replaced his tongue with a swathe of sandpaper.

“Felix! You’re awake!” Ingrid exclaimed, a smile breaking over her lips as she threw her arms around him.

“Welcome back, buddy!” Sylvain agreed, plopping on top of Ingrid and thereby Felix as well. He blatantly ignored the blonde’s muffled protests as she was squashed between them.

“…Thanks,” Felix responded from the bottom of the pile. “Now get off.” His friends obliged, Ingrid with a pointed glare at Sylvain. Slowly, the swordsman eased himself onto his elbows, wincing as his side tightened. It wasn’t painful, just…uncomfortable.

“Easy…” Ingrid murmured, eyeing his bandaged torso.

“I’m fine,” Felix said shortly, shoving aside her concern. He had too many questions to linger on such trivialities. “What happened? Did we get the relic? Is A—Is everyone alright?”

Sylvain and Ingrid exchanged a knowing look, Sylvain’s expression triumphant, Ingrid’s amused. Felix narrowed his eyes.

“What?” he asked, somehow already annoyed.

“Nothing,” Ingrid replied, giving Sylvain a light shove as he snickered. “Baron Dominic relinquished the relic, so the mission was a success.” 

“And Annette’s fine,” Sylvain added, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Since you were obviously conc—”

“Shut up, I was not!” Felix protested, glaring daggers at the other man.

“Sure, sure,” Sylvain responded, waving his hand in a humoring way that Felix hated. “But, since you wanted to know, I’m fine. Ingrid’s fine. Everyone’s fine. Except you apparently. Why the hell didn’t you tell us you were injured!?”

“I…” Felix trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable. He shrugged. “It was a small blade and the wound wasn’t deep. Enemy soldiers were attacking. It wasn’t a priority.”

“Felix, your life is a priority,” Ingrid retorted flatly, folding her arms across her chest.

“Well I’m alive, aren’t I?” Felix returned shortly. Sylvain and Ingrid exchanged another look, this one significantly more weighted than the first. The swordsman felt his stubbornness falter, their silence speaking volumes. “…Was it that bad?” he asked, hating the hesitation in his tone.

“It was that bad,” Sylvain confirmed. “To the point that I’d punch you in the face if you weren’t already lying in the infirmary.”

Ingrid placed a calming hand on Sylvain’s knee, one he made no effort to move.

“Felix, by the time Mercedes got to you, the poison had spread pretty far. It…you…” she trailed off, swallowing and clearing her throat before allowing herself to continue. “You were lucky.”

Silence fell over them, the distant sound of birdsong clearly audible through the open window. Felix didn’t know what to say. He was embarrassed over their concern, and frustrated with himself for causing it in the first place. Displays of weakness, instances of vulnerability… Both were things he made a point to avoid, yet both had proven unavoidable. His hands tightened into fists and he glowered at the bedding. Sylvain sighed, clearly picking up on Felix’s discomfort. He clapped the young man on the shoulder.

“Moral of the story, just let us know when some crazy assassin stabs you with a knife. Okay?” he asked. “It’s what friends do.”

“…Or something,” Ingrid mumbled, kneading her temples with the tips of her fingers.

“I…will,” Felix assented. Then, almost as an afterthought: “Sorry.”

At that moment the sound of soft footsteps drew their attention to the doorway, and a second later Annette Dominic slid into the infirmary. She paused at the sight of three pairs of eyes on her.

“Oh, hey gu—Felix! You’re awake!” The girl moved forward, then stopped just short of the infirmary’s round table. Her eyes flashed to Sylvain and Ingrid. Was it Felix’s imagination, or did her face look suddenly flushed? And why was Sylvain grinning like that?

“Um, I can come back later actually. I don’t want to interrupt,” Annette said, her voice oddly high. Sylvain leapt to his feet.

“Actually, Ingrid and I were just leaving. Weren’t we Ingrid?” he asked. Ingrid blinked once before slowly nodding her head, rising to her feet as well.

“Uh, yes. Yes, we were,” she agreed. “Definitely just leaving.”

Felix was not an idiot. There was definitely something going on. He glared at Ingrid and Sylvain, but both seemed content to keep him in the dark.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Annette responded, taking another step toward the hallway. “You don’t have…to…”

“Don’t be ridiculous Annette, yes we do,” Sylvain retorted, crossing the room and patting her good naturedly on the head. She scowled and wriggled away from him. Ingrid turned scrupulous eyes to Felix.

“If I see you anywhere near the training grounds, I will personally drag you back here and tie you to the bed myself,” she stated. “You need to fully recover before—what Sylvain?”

A massive grin had completely swallowed the bottom half of Sylvain’s face, the effect exaggerated by his eyebrows which were waggling in a lascivious dance upon his forehead. 

“Nothing, Ingrid. I just had no idea you fancied that sort of bed pl—Gah!” He stumbled backward as the blonde stormed over to him, brandishing her index finger like a knife beneath his chin.

“Not. Another. Word,” she growled, her face a magnificent shade of plum. Sylvain grinned weakly at her. Felix’s posture unconsciously straightened as Ingrid’s attention whipped back to him, her fingers still precariously close to Sylvain’s throat.

“Felix? I’m glad you’re awake,” she stated, her words clipped. The swordsman cleared his throat.

“Uh, thank you,” he said shortly, ignoring the pleading eyes the red-head was sending his way. Ingrid’s attention snapped back to Sylvain, the young man automatically lifting his hands in a meek gesture of surrender. 

“C-come on Ingr—”

“Shh! No.” She pressed her index finger to his lips, effectively silencing him. Felix and Annette watched with mild interest as Sylvain quieted, his gaze locked on the blonde, eyes sparkling.

The birds sang. The curtains ruffled.

Ingrid opened her mouth, closed it, and promptly strode from the room.

Sylvain blinked, his hands falling to his sides. “Aw Ingrid! I was joking, don’t be like that!” He started after her, then seemed to remember that Annette and Felix were still in the room. “Ah, you kids have fun,” he said to them. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. Or, you know actually, don’t do anything I _would._ ” He took two more steps toward the door before pausing again. “Oh, and Felix?”

 _“What?”_ Felix growled, blatantly fed up. Sylvain shot him a dazzling smile.

“You owe me dinner. Soon preferably. And if I got any gray hairs over this whole traumatizing experience? Drinks are on you. For the rest of our lives,” he stated. Then, as if sensing Felix’s forthcoming protests, Sylvain winked, waved, and hurried after Ingrid.

“That was…interesting,” Annette said after a moment. The swordsman sighed, rolling his eyes.

“That was normal,” he answered flatly. “Unfortunately.”

Annette giggled, but lapsed into silence a beat later. Felix couldn’t help but notice that she seemed weirdly hesitant, her usual cheer dampened in a preoccupied haze. The girl had yet to occupy one of the vacated chairs, but neither had she made a move to retreat back into the hall. Instead she simply stood there, wringing her hands awkwardly and looking as though she might bolt if Felix made any sudden moves. His brow furrowed.

“Annette, what—"

“I was going to bake you something!” she blurted, cutting him off before he could finish his question.

“Uh, okay,” he replied. Annette barreled on.

“Mercie offered to help me. She’s way better at that sort of thing. But then I remembered that you don’t like sweets and I didn’t want them to go to waste— Not that giving them to you would be a waste! —This isn’t coming out right.” Annette took a deep breath and tried again. “I only came up here to make sure you were alright. And you are! So, I…I’ll just…” She pressed her lips together and thumbed in the direction of the door.

It was then that Manuela bustled into the room.

“Annette! Hello again!” the diva exclaimed. Annette froze.

“Uh, h-hello, Professor M—”

“Oh, Felix! You’re awake at last! I hoped you would be! We were all so worried,” Manuela crooned, gliding right past Annette. The woman’s heels clicked against the wood floor as she strode to his bedside. There was a small ceramic cup in her hand, the vinegary odor of which Felix could smell from his spot on the mattress. Manuela regarded him before her eyes flicked to Annette, a coy smile on her painted lips. Felix was instantly on edge.

“Isn’t it _lovely_ to see our swordsman safely back in the land of the living?” she gushed. “I know how worried you’ve been dear.”

Annette looked like she regretted not bolting from the room when she’d had the chance. She stammered out an answer regardless. “O-of course it is. But _everyone_ was worried. It wasn’t just—”

“It’ll be nice to sleep in your own bed again won’t it?” Manuela interrupted. She gestured to the vacated seats. “Those chairs looked _so_ uncomfortable. But you managed, didn’t you?”

A very pregnant silence followed this statement. Felix stared at Annette, who stared at Manuela, who looked very pleased with herself.

“What?” Felix blurted, at the same time Annette gasped: “P-Professor Manuela!?”

The diva gave the girl a conspiratorial look and wagged a manicured nail in false admonishment.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you slipping in here in the late hours of the evening. I _was_ in charge of his care you know.” She turned to Felix. “It was adorable. Like something out of a romance novel! Our little Annette. Asleep in that chair! Every night!” Manuela sighed wistfully.

Between the flush on her face and the red of her hair, it appeared Annette’s head had actually combusted. She began to sidestep toward the door, the movement stiff, like a particularly awkward crab. Felix couldn’t tell if Manuela was aware of the discomfort she was causing, yet the glint in her eye implicated that she knew exactly what she was doing.

“This is perfect actually,” the woman continued. “Annette!”

Annette tripped over the rug.

Manuela pretended not to notice.

“Dear, would you stay here and ensure Felix drinks this concoction?” She raised the glass with its foul-smelling potion. “I have a date in town this evening and the _state_ of my hair…ugh.” She pulled a face and set the cup on Felix’s bedside table. He scowled at it.

“I’m not drinking that,” he said darkly. Manuela gave him a flat look.

“That’s rude, Felix,” she said before releasing a beleaguered sigh. “Men. Always so ungrateful.” Manuela gestured airily for a moment before rounding on Annette again. “Thank you so much for your help, darling. You’re really doing me a favor,” she cooed, winking as she walked past the girl. Annette squeaked, something that might have been a response, but also might have been due to Manuela accidently treading on her foot. “You two behave yourselves!” the diva sang, fluttering her fingers as she departed. Then, with a satisfied swish of her cloak, she vanished from the room.

Felix didn’t think he had ever heard such cacophonous silence.

Annette was staring at the door, though Manuela’s footsteps had already faded away. The girl’s hands were pressed against her cheeks, as though hoping to hide the vivid blush that fanned underneath. Felix opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He didn’t know what to say to her. Didn’t know if his thoughts were sorted enough to say anything at all. Manuela’s words were bouncing around his head in an incessant echo, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

_“Asleep in that chair! Every night!”_

The swordsman’s brow furrowed.

“Okay well, you heard Professor Manuela!” Annette had found her voice again, though she still wasn’t looking at him. “Make sure you drink that…um…whatever it is! I’d stay, but I have to go, uh, polish my…books—shoes! Polish my shoes…not books. That doesn’t make sense. Anyway…Bye Felix!” She turned and promptly crashed into the table, upsetting the vase that had been acting as its centerpiece and sending flowers cascading across the floor.

Felix winced.

“Are you—” he began, but she cut him off.

“Nope. I’m good. I got this. Totally under control,” she said hastily. 

“That’s not—”

“I know what you’re going to say, Felix! ‘There she goes again! Clumsy Annette…can’t even back out of a room properly…’”

“No, I—”

“Well it’s a _stupid_ place to put furniture—”

“ _Annette!”_

She froze, apparently unaware that she’d been jamming the plants back into the vase flower-side down.

“Y-yes?”

“Do you…want to sit down?” he asked. There was a pause in which Felix busied himself by staring at the anatomical figure situated oddly in the infirmary’s dusty corner. 

“O-okay,” Annette finally replied. Her voice was surprisingly small. She crossed the room, hesitating only a moment before sliding into one of the vacated chairs. The following silence was nearly palpable.

“So…” Annette began.

“Um…” Felix added unhelpfully.

Someone could have fried an egg on his face. What had he been thinking? Why had he called her over when he had no idea what to say? It would have been better if he had simply let her leave! If he had avoided this whole ridiculous—!

“I’m sorry,” Annette said suddenly, halting the downward spiral of his thoughts. Felix frowned.

“For what?” he asked. The girl’s hands balled into fists. A few seconds passed before she responded.

“I got the relic from my uncle,” she said, her eyes fixed stubbornly in her lap. Felix’s frown deepened, her answer not what he had expected. 

“I heard,” he answered. “But that doesn’t seem like something to apologize for.” Her eyes flicked to his and he was glad to see a flash of familiar exasperation there. It made whatever… _this…_ was feel more normal somehow. Then her expression sobered again.

“Not that specifically,” she said, pausing as though trying to piece together her thoughts. “Back on the battlefield… you were just _lying_ there. I realized…” The words caught in her throat. Annette exhaled, her thumbs performing a frenzied dance around each other as her fingers interlocked. “You’ve always been so strong Felix! Then you got hurt. _Really_ hurt. And I realized that despite your strength, you might still die. And it would be partially my fault. _I_ was the one who had to get a relic. _I_ was the one that dragged all of you into it.” She hesitated. “If you _had_ , well, you know… Even with the relic, I…I think I would have lost more than I won that day.”

Felix’s frown deepened as her words washed over him. She was looking distinctly pink, her rosy cheeks blending with the strands of her hair.

“I…see,” he finally managed, fumbling for a practical direction in which to take this conversation. One that veered distinctly away from his almost dying and her apparently feeling responsible for it. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Annette blinked. “What?”

Felix fixed her with a look. “Blaming yourself for my injury is a waste of time. I was the one who let that man through my guard. It was my failure, not yours.”

“But—”

“We’re at war, Annette,” he interrupted. “Do you blame the professor every time our soldiers die in battle?”

The girl frowned. “No, of course not.”

“Even though she’s the one ordering them to fight?” he persisted.

“That’s not the sa—”

“It _is_ the same,” he broke in. “It’s exactly the same.”

A pause.

“Maybe it is a similar concept,” Annette assented. “But, um, that’s not really what I was trying to say. Though that was a part of it, I suppose.”

“Oh.” Felix hesitated. “Then what _were_ you trying to say?”

“I…it’s…well,” she stammered, then shot him a frustrated look. “You can’t just put me on the spot like that, Felix!”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” he returned.

“I _know…_ ” Annette protested, her inflection rising. “I know! I…it’s just that…”

“It’s just…?” he persisted.

She looked at him. Exhaled slowly. Then threw her arms around his neck.

It wasn’t often that Felix Fraldarius was caught off guard. Now was definitely one of those times. He tensed, at a sudden and complete loss for what to do with his arms.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” Annette whispered. “First to my uncle, and then to the poison…” She trailed off as her arms tightened. “When you challenged him to run you through I…That was terrible.” Her voice was tiny. Tremulous. “I’m just so glad, that I didn’t. Lose you, I mean,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I guess that’s all I was trying to say.”

Felix opened his mouth to reply and promptly closed it again. He was having a difficult time formulating a proper sentence. His hand was lifted, hovering mere inches over Annette’s back. All he had to do was set it down. It wasn’t like he had _never_ hugged anyone before, it just wasn’t something he did often. Hugs were a quick ordeal, usually with a single arm and a couple of back slaps for good measure. ‘Manly hugs,’ Ingrid called them; reserved for family and close friends. This was definitely different, but that didn’t make it bad.

He just had to put his damn hand down.

Before he got the chance, she pulled away, a light flush on her cheeks.

“Aaaaaand you’re not saying anything,” Annette said, a bit self-consciously. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hugged you. I know you don’t really like that sort of thing.”

Felix shrugged and cleared his throat. “It…wasn’t terrible,” he responded, then instantly felt like an idiot. He could practically hear the slap of an imaginary Sylvain palming his forehead. Wasn’t terrible _indeed!_

“Well, that’s good,” Annette said slowly, the first word drawn out.

“…It is,” Felix agreed. Gods what was wrong with him!? Did he need to be on death’s door to communicate properly!?

More silence.

“Okay, well this is awkward,” Annette said with a nervous laugh. “I’ll just let you rest.”

And now he had gone and chased her away all because he was too prideful to open his mouth and risk saying something stupid. Annette had been by his side every night while his body fought the poison. She’d lost sleep for him. Meanwhile, all Felix could do was tell her that her hugs ‘weren’t terrible.’ He was such a fool.

Annette hummed awkwardly as she rose from her seat, clearly taking his silence for acquiescence to her leaving. The melody gave Felix pause. He recognized it. Remembered those lilting notes permeating into the depths of his being, keeping the darkness at bay. It had been that song that had given him the strength to hold on.

Of course, the voice had been Annette’s. How had he not realized?

“Can you sing for me?” he blurted, successfully freezing the girl in place. She blinked at him.

“What?”

“Uh,” Felix replied. That was not what he’d had in mind, but that was what had come tumbling out of his mouth. There would be no going back. The conversation horse had officially left the stable, and Felix was stuck in the saddle with no reigns. He took a deep breath.

“I…I heard you. Before,” he mumbled, pointedly averting his gaze. There was no way he could say any of this if he was looking at her. “I heard your voice when I was unconscious. I didn’t know it was you, but after what Professor Manuela said, it must have been.”

“Oh,” Annette replied, her voice tiny as she lowered herself back into the chair. “Um, for the record, you weren’t supposed to know about any of that. It’s more than a little embarrassing…”

“It kept me here,” Felix told her honestly. “When I was…drifting. Your voice kept me grounded.” He looked at her then, at her lips slightly parted in surprise. He found himself staring at them, a memory niggling in the back of his mind.

_A song as the battlefield faded around him. Warm lips brushing his own…_

He jerked at the sudden recollection, his face feeling hot. What the hell had that been?

“Um, Felix?” Annette asked. “You’re kind of…staring.”

The swordsman blinked. So he was. What was wrong with him? 

“Sorry,” he muttered, pointedly looking anywhere except at Annette. 

She laughed nervously.

“A-anyway, going back to what you said before…I guess I just felt that singing was the least I could do. You know, since my uncle tried to kill you and everything. And for some reason you seem to like my stupid little songs.”

Felix looked thoughtful. His mind raced back to that moment on the battlefield when the lance had paused a hair’s breadth from his chest.

“Your uncle could have killed me,” he said quietly. “But he didn’t."

Annette frowned. “What do you mean?”

The swordsman shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he responded. “But Gilbert was right. The baron’s a good man.” Annette was giving him a suspicious look, so he barreled on before she could press the issue. “Anyway, you’re avoiding my question. Are you going to sing or not?”

The mage immediately looked flustered. “No, it’s embarrassing!” she hissed with a quick glance at the infirmary door. “What if someone hears?”

Felix lifted a brow. “So back on the battlefield, when you said you’d sing the rest of your song for me…that was a lie?” he asked.

Annette froze. “You remember that?” she asked shortly. Felix tilted his head.

“Mostly,” he responded. “Why?”

Annette looked as though she might be ill. “N-no reason. But um, is that all you remember? A-about that particular moment?”

_A press of soft lips._

_Warmth._

_A promise._

His hesitation spoke volumes.

“O-oh my,” Annette stammered, her complexion rivaling a ripe tomato. “I am so sor—I have to go. Now. Right now.” The girl jumped up, upsetting her chair in her haste to get to her feet. She squeaked, nearly toppling over herself as she scrambled to right the mistake.

“Calm down, you’re going to hurt yourself!” Felix said as he shoved his blankets to the side. He rose to his feet, managing to get a steadying hand on the girl’s arm before she could fall. Annette whirled to face him, her eyes immediately dropping to his bare chest. Felix wouldn’t have thought it possible for her to flush any deeper, but somehow, she found a way. For the goddess’s sake, it wasn’t like she had never seen a shirtless man before! Besides the bandages covered most of his torso anyway. What was she so embarrassed about?

He released her arm and stepped back.

“Can we have a conversation without you flailing like a madwoman?” he asked flatly.

“I make no such promises,” Annette replied. She had tilted her head up and was now staring pointedly at the ceiling.

“Then sit in that chair so you _can_ make such promises.” A pause. “Without knocking it over.” She brought her gaze back to his, but still looked ready to bolt. He sighed, his voice softening. “Please, Annette?”

She hesitated, then finally sat.

Felix followed her example, lowering himself onto the side of the bed, his feet planted firmly on the floor. It was humiliating how winded he felt from simply standing. The poison really had done a number on him.

His gaze settled on Annette, though her own remained locked in her lap.

“So…” she whispered. “What else _do_ you remember? A-about after you…fell?” Her fingers interlocked, her thumbs returning to their dance. Felix hesitated, his mind sifting through the muddled memories.

“Warmth,” he said honestly. “And…a song. Your song.”

“Oh.” Annette’s thumbs continued to circle each other. “Is that all?”

Felix’s eyes drifted to her lips again, his face heating. He cleared his throat.

“Uh, there might have been…uh…” He cleared his throat again. “But I was…I mean…maybe? I think there was…something else…”

Why was this so difficult? Why couldn’t he master eloquence in the same way he mastered swordplay?

Annette’s eyes lifted, her gaze catching his.

“Was it a bad thing?” she asked quietly. “This… ‘something else?’”

He blinked. Surprised.

“No!” The word left his lips before he could rationalize the implication. He cleared his throat. “I mean, no. Not…it wasn’t…worse things have happened.”

Annette looked mortified.

“ _Worse things have happened_?” she squeaked. Felix winced.

“That’s not what I meant… I just can’t, I’m not—!” he cut himself off, his eyes catching her wide ones. “Look, I’m bad at this okay?” he finally blurted. “I don’t know…how to say…what I’m saying.”

Annette blinked at him before her lips melted into a smile.

“Felix…you’re blushing again,” she said.

His face flamed hotter.

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “A-anyway this is stupid. Are you going to sing my song or not?”

Annette colored. “I never said it was specifically _your_ song,” she protested. “A-and I thought you were dying when I said that!”

Felix shrugged. “Maybe I still am. My side does feel pretty sore all of the sudden…”

“That is not funny!” Annette exclaimed, bombarding his shoulder with multiple, pointed whacks. “You can’t just say things like that after, well, _everything!_ ”

“Okay!” he replied, lifting an arm to fend her off. “Okay, I get it! Calm down, you don’t have to hit me!”

“Yes! I! Do!” Annette retorted, punctuating each word with a jab to his arm.

Felix caught her hand and their eyes met over her captive fingertips. A beat passed and she opened her mouth, though Felix dropped her hand before she could say anything. He would be damned before he let her call him out for blushing again. He wasn’t an idiot. He could feel how warm his face was.

“Anyway, you don’t have to,” he mumbled. “Sing, I mean.”

Annette pressed her lips together, looking thoughtful. “I will,” she said after a pause. “On one condition.”

Felix looked at her, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What’s the condition?” he asked cautiously. Annette’s eyes sparkled.

“You have to drink Manuela’s potion,” she told him, pointing at the small ceramic cup. Felix pulled a face.

“Ugh, it smells like wyvern piss,” he grumbled. Annette nodded, looking much too pleased with herself.

“Yup. Probably tastes like it too,” she agreed.

Felix scowled at her. “You’re not helping your argument.”

“It’ll get you back in the training grounds faster.”

This gave him pause. Annette grinned triumphantly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well?” she asked, nodding in the direction of the concoction. Stubborn blue eyes met obstinate amber. A silent skirmish commenced between the mage and the swordsman, one that was carried out in complete stillness. It was over much quicker than Felix would have liked to admit. 

“…Fine,” he grumbled, finally looking away. The young man grabbed the cup, glaring down into murky green depths. This was just a different sort of battle, he told himself. To claim victory, all he had to do was take a few swigs. And he would keep a straight face for good measure. There was no way he was going to let Annette witness his disgust.

Gritting his teeth, Felix closed his eyes, hesitating only a moment before he drained the whole thing.

It was every bit as terrible as he’d feared. Annette had the gall to applaud.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, leaning back against the pillows. “And a deal’s a deal.” His eyelids were already starting to droop. Saints that stuff worked quickly.

“I know,” the girl sighed. “Close your eyes. And don’t laugh!”

“Why do I have to close—”

“Just do it Felix!”

“...Fine.”

He let his eyelids shut, sinking into the mattress with a tired sigh. For a moment there was silence and he wondered if he’d actually have to goad her into singing. Then he felt a small hand slide into his own. The gesture startled his eyes open and Annette’s face swam back into view. She froze, looking immediately unsure. Her fingers tensed, prepared to pull away if he said the wrong thing. Felix stared at her, a handful of seconds ticking by before he closed his eyes again.

“Weren’t you going to sing?” he asked quietly.

He did not let go of her hand.

A tiny, relieved sigh floated somewhere above his head. “You’re so impatient,” Annette whispered, but the smile in her voice was impossible to miss.

At last her song lilted from her lips.

The notes floated through Felix’s fading consciousness, their tender legato crafting a lullaby that instantly put him at ease. The girl's hand was soft and warm in his own, the exact opposite of his sword’s rigid steel. Somehow, holding it felt just as natural. Felix’s mind slipped away on a ship of tranquil song; Annette’s voice his compass pointing to a sea of dreams.

And if those dreams happened to be of her? Well…It wouldn’t be the worst thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody!! Thank you so much for your patience!!! This chapter took a lot of polishing and I wanted it to be as good as I could make it before it was released. I sincerely hope the wait was worth it! I had so, so much fun writing this and I really hope you all had a blast reading it! Writing Felix trying to be emotional is hard!!! Thank you all so, so much for your support! I love being able to share my love of this fandom and this pairing with all of you! I have a few more ideas for FE stories bopping about in my head. I need to focus on writing something short xD Or shorter I should say. Who knows, maybe one of these days my intended oneshots will actually be oneshots. 
> 
> I debated having them kiss again at the end and. In one version of the ending they actually did but I ended up changing it. Don't hurt me please. (It still exists in that massive 'cut pages' document I mentioned back in the first chapter notes xD) I guess I just thought with Annette being as embarrassed as she was, and Felix being the type of human that he is, I didn't think she'd feel comfortable just kissing him again. I feel like Felix isn't the type of person you just kiss without having a conversation about it first...Unless he's dying. Or something. Anyway.
> 
> You all are the best! Thank you again for taking the time to read! Hopefully see you awesome humans in future stories!! :D


End file.
